


Traitor

by Vesania94



Series: Lady Hunter: The Stories of Grace Trevelyan [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Circle Tower, Explicit Language, F/M, Mage Hunter, Mage Rebellion, Ostwick Circle, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Rite of Tranquility, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 08:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7214233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vesania94/pseuds/Vesania94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grace escapes the Ostwick Circle of Magi</p>
            </blockquote>





	Traitor

**_One Year Before The Conclave_ **

 

Grace awoke to the sounds of screams echoing through the normally quiet tower. In her dream daze, she struggled to identify the voice now on the other side of her door.

“My Lady, you need to get up now!” the familiar voice was shouting at her. The creaking of armor and a loud thumping joined the frantic din.

“Marc!” Grace sprinted to the door, ripping it open. She jumped into the man’s arms in a wild hug.

“I was terrified I was too late. You need to get out of here, Grace. You need to run.”

“Marc, what do you-“ she winced as he grabbed her shoulders with his armored hands, the metal cold through her thin nightdress.

“The Circle has broken, Grace. The rebel Templars are slaughtering everyone for fear of blood magic.”

Grace tried backed away from the Templar, fingers twitching for her staff sitting nearby. “Are you here to kill me, Marc?”

“No.”

“Then what are you doing here?” she asked, freeing herself from his grasp. Picking up her old breastplate from the rack she kept it on, she started belting on her armor, cursing silently at the subtle softness that had come to her body with the year of inactivity.

“I came to get you out of here. What part of slaughter don’t you understand?”

Grace gave him a half-smirk as she pulled on the dusty black leather coat she used to wear, inwardly glowing at the familiarity of the situation. “I’m still pretty beat from a ritual earlier. Got any lyrium?” She reached out and plucked the tossed bottle out of midair, unscrewing the top and draining it in a single swallow, ignoring the tangy metallic buzz still on her tongue when she tossed the bottle to the side.

“Quickly, Grace. I meant it when we don’t have time.”

 

The unlikely pair raced down the hallway, skidding to a stop as they reached the fighting. Much to their chagrin, both parties seemed to turn on them immediately, the Mages with shouts of “Traitor” and the Templars with shouts of “Get the Mage!”

Grace backed up to Marc, casting a barrier around them. “Just like The Golden Fox, right Marc?” she shouted over the din of the battle.

“Don’t remind me, Grace. What was it, seven to one?” he shouted as he took down several mages, the Templars pressing in behind them.

“Eight, and I still managed to save your sorry hide!” Grace laughed as she drew a wall of fire. Marc was laughing with her, their voices far more harsh than this banter normally would have been, when Grace felt the barriers falter, and fall. Her mana drained quickly and she realized what had happened. Someone had laid down a Smite. Shouting Marc’s name, she fell to her knees, only to be seized upon by the mages, who started to drag her off, unable to cast their own spells. Marc turned to grab her hand.

That instant seemed to last a lifetime to Grace. It was everything. It was unspoken words, it was tender moments, it was memories, and it was dreams of an impossible future. It was ‘I love you’.

It was goodbye.

He coughed and spluttered blood, as a blade ran through his armor, his eyes clouding over, and Grace screamed, tears streaking down her dirty face.

 

“Bring her over here. This is where they hide it!” the mage on her right arm cackled, hauling on Grace’s right arm towards a barricaded door.

“Unlock it, here.” The mage on her left arm handed the other one a dagger from his belt.

Grace’s chest tightened as she felt the cloying feeling of blood magic surround her and the mage and the door exploded into fragments, revealing the phylactery room. To her horror, that was not the object of their search.

The mage on her right stood there with the dagger to her throat, as the left disappeared into the room, emerging seconds later with a long spindle of metal, tipped with a sunburst. He placed it into a brazier nearby and walked over to Grace.

“All right, traitor-bitch. Before we destroy that tiny mind of yours, we’ll destroy your body as well? Do you like torture? You were with that Templar scum, so I’m guessing you do.”

“You can try, limp dick. He was ten times the man you’ll ever be.” Grace spat a globule of blood at his face, smiling bitterly as she hit her mark. He hit her across the face hard.

“So that’s how she wants to do it, isn’t it Traitor-Bitch? Well, I think it’s time you felt the pain that you caused all the people we knew.”

Leftie took the brand out of the brazier and stood in front of her face. She could feel the heat emanating from the glowing sunburst.

Grace let out a blast of energy so powerful it shattered the glass behind her.

The brand fell from Leftie’s hand as he was thrown across the room. She grabbed his staff, momentarily forgetting about the one on her right. As her hand closed around the magic staff, his gripped the starburst brand, driving it into her right shoulder, letting the brand burn through the leather. Something in Grace’s mind snapped, and she drove the blade of the staff into the throat of the man holding the brand to her. He let out one final gurgle as she twisted the blade violently, grinning as she heard his spine crack. More shouting started echoing up the corridor Backing into the phylactery room, she put up every ward she knew, and started digging through the boxes frantically, before coming up triumphant. No one would track her down this time.

She clutched the tiny vial and stood in front of the windows, watching a wall of Templars walking towards her.

“You want the traitor bitch?” She screamed, gathering every last bit of strength she had. “Come and get me, ladies.”

She held her hand up in a middle finger salute, and unleashed a blast of energy at the floor. Walls fractured, beams splintered, and the last thing Grace saw before blacking out was the sky as she was thrown off of the top of the tower towards the waiting sea below her.


End file.
